


Devilish Delectables

by thedeadflag



Category: Glee
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadflag/pseuds/thedeadflag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana runs a snarky little chocolate shop in Brooklyn with patrons she loves insulting. Rachel just wants some chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Devil's Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an AU idea of Santana running this tiny little chocolate shop/cafe and being snarky all day everyday to her customers, and Rachel pops by after doing an off-Broadway show at the BAM. I've seen some other fics out there where Quinn ran a shop, or Rachel ran a shop, but I haven't stumbled across one where Santana, as a main character, runs a shop. And none in the pezberry fandom that I've seen, for sure. So I figured why not?
> 
> I used The Chocolate Room and Nunu Chocolates as inspiration for what Santana's shop offers, and where it's located (the 5th ave shop in Brooklyn for The Chocolate Room, thus the reference to the 78th precinct, the hospitals nearby, etc.). Both places have kickass chocolate stuff, so if you're ever around there, you should seriously get some of their stuff. So glorious. 
> 
> Anywho, this is definitely a WIP, and a story that I'm not sure I'll ever properly finish given all the material I have outlined for it, but I felt like posting it here, and it'll be updated when I have time to write more. Ideally, this fic will be quite long and there will be a lot of character development as both Rachel and Santana figure out where they fit in NYC, and what they want in their lives. Ideally, they'll move from employer/customer to friends to more over quite some span of time. And if I can manage the time, it'll go like that :)
> 
> Anywho, thanks for reading!

"I think I'll take two bags of those chocolate covered coffee beans and one of those café torino things to go." The middle-aged paramedic stated after an agonizing forty seven seconds of deliberation.

Santana endured this every single day from the man, and while she was happy as hell to have him as a committed regular to her quaint little shop, she was also pretty sure he was going to die soon from his coffee and chocolate intake. That concern almost outweighed the fact that she made some decent coin off of him on a daily basis.

"Walt, you obnoxious fuck. Every day you come in here, every day you put on that ineffective thinking cap, and you squeeze together enough brain cells to tell me an order that you could just call your usual, like any remotely intelligent customer would." Santana groaned, scowling at the man as she prepped his espresso-filled dark hot chocolate, topping it with a bit less foam than others got. Because seriously? If he wasn't gonna worry about his health, being a paramedic and all, she would step in a bit, considering it wasn't on her own dime.

"You wound me, Satan. More in my wallet than anything, but my wife won't complain. I'm sure she'd order those beans from you in bulk if you'd let her." Walt noted in jest, laughing a little as she slid him his take-out cup and the bag of chocolate-covered wake-me-ups.

"Like you don't just pop those all night to stay awake. You forget you've been coming here for two years, Walt, I know you work midnights most Thursdays, and you're always tired as fuck when you come in here. These things don't cure dead bedrooms, man, no matter how easily they'll have you vibrating and thinking you're better than a Hitachi." Santana snarked back with a grin; it was probably the best thing about her job, being able to insult her customers. Hell, not just the ability to do so, but the expectation.

Santana had opened her sleepy little chocolate shop a few years back in a tiny storefront in Park Slope, mostly because her aunt knew the owner and therefore the rent was affordable so long as she was willing to put in the work to make the place not look like an abandoned convenience store-turned-meth lab. It was strange that a craving for chocolate and a need to have more on hand for personal traumas had led to creating a little shop, but it had served her well. She'd only struggled a little early on before a nearby precinct and hospital staff took notice and used her place as a hangout of sorts. The location, while not ideal, was pretty great, being close to cop shops, hospitals, BAM, the Atlantic terminal and the Barclays center. Sure, people rarely made their way down the street to her place from some of those hot-spots, but it happened on occasion.

In a way, it seemed like a risky play to be so crass and insulting to cops, doctors, nurses and paramedics, but they ate it up and kept coming back, so she just kept at it. It gave her place a rep amongst the locals, and while that didn't particularly make her renowned throughout Brooklyn, it gave her shop enough business to survive pretty comfortably. Mostly, she sold coffee and hot chocolate to overworked people working terrible shifts, but enough people came by to buy up her cakes, brownies, sauces, confections and all the other stuff she had on stock too. It took a while to make sure she didn't overstock the expensive shit that went bad quick, but after a few months in operation, Santana had it down to a science.

"If I tell you it's for my partner, would you believe me?" Walt asked as he stepped away from the front counter, letting the next person in line move up.

"You know I have no problem with two guys getting together, Walt, it's good you're being honest with yourself, finally." Santana teased playfully, earning a middle finger for her efforts. "Get out of here, you addict."

When she focused on the patron that replaced Walt at the front of the counter, Santana let out an exasperated sigh. "God damnit, Lucas. I swear to god, if you ask me for another bag of brownies I can't be held accountable for you getting diabetes."

"Ah, shut it, Lopez, and give me what I want. Besides, why are you complaining? You're the one screwing me over with this overpriced shit." The detective bit back with a shake of his head and an expectant outstretched hand. Grumbling, Santana marched over by her oven and packaged up the fresh batch she'd baked up an hour earlier.

"You usually eat shit and tell? Not my fault your fat ass is willing to pay eight bucks for a bag. I swear, Lucas, your spirit animal is a twenty-two year old pot-head with the munchies." Santana complained, grabbing the man's twenty and getting his change. "Like, seriously, the chocolate covered strawberries are the same price, and would both be healthier and let you wax nostalgic about that rookie you were dating last year…who was it, Margulies?"

The man took his change and brownies and scoffed, pocketing the money. "Go to hell, Lopez." The man laughed, returning to the table of off-duty cops over in the corner of her shop. She made the effort to point to her sign and the appropriately themed decorations littering her shop; it wasn't called Devilish Delectables for nothing. She'd been called Satan almost all her life by people of all ages, and that moniker stuck enough for her to use it for inspiration in naming her little café.

Happy that it was nearing close and she didn't have a lineup anymore, she got around to performing her usual late night clean-up. Up until a little over a year ago, she'd always made sure to work mornings and have her cousins take the night shifts, but the change of pace in working late shifts had provided her with some decent laughs and customers. Sure, she was usually robbed of a good night's sleep and any fun activities, given she had mornings off, but sometimes it was worth it.

At about forty minutes to closing time, the door swung open, which was a bit weird because it was almost midnight, and most people who came by later at night came earlier at the end of their shifts or right before they started them. Santana looked up from the counter she'd just cleaned off and spotted this absolute hobbit of a woman; she couldn't have been much taller than five feet, and the brunette was anxiously looking over her menu.

Deciding clean-up could wait a bit, Santana walked back over to the front counter and gave the woman an appraising look, noticing the brunette looked a little upset and had dried tear tracks on her cheeks. "You're new…and you're not wearing scrubs or a uniform. Let me guess, you finished watching 'Beaches' on Lifetime and needed some comfort chocolate, and google maps led you here?"

The woman took a step back, her mouth agape in both surprise and seemingly offense. As if Santana hadn't dealt with women coming in late at night after Hallmark or Lifetime channel movie marathons looking for some chocolate to drown their emotions in.

"What…wow, that's hardly a way to speak to a customer. And 'Beaches' is a classic!" The brunette noted indignantly, stomping her foot on the hardwood floor in apparent annoyance. It was all a little ridiculous.

"Please, I give the boys of the 78th way more hell, especially if they come in this late. So calm your skeeterbites and tell me what I can get you." Santana retorted, cocking her hip to the side and crossing her arms, waiting for whatever order was given. If she was a betting girl, she'd guess her last batch of brownies were about to head out the door, but new customers were always tricky to pin down.

The brunette's hand went to her chest in shock, a flicker of fury overtaking the woman's face; clearly, her new customer had a flair for the dramatic. Lovely.

"I beg your pardon! Is your manager around? I'd like to file a complaint." The woman demanded, drawing a laugh from her and a few other patrons. Because seriously, any time someone wanted to complain about her language was kind of hilarious. Especially seeing the looks on their faces when she'd tell them that she was the owner. The new customer was no different.

Santana grabbed her trusty notepad and pen and looked up at the woman expectantly. "Alright, you've got the store owner at your service. But while you rant to me, can you at least figure out what you want to get, because I'd like to get out of here before one."

The woman's face went red as she scowled at Santana, but the customer gamely went on with her complaint. "I feel it's absolutely inappropriate of you to be so antagonizing to your customer base, and if I were to give this shop a score out of five stars in the realm of customer service it would receive none. I came in here tonight after a hard night's work, not having noticed this shop before, and decided to get myself and my boyfriend a little treat. But since you've been so unnecessarily mean, I am close to changing my mind."

Santana nodded, jotting the statement down before sticking it up on her wall of complaints beside the cash register. "Okay, whatever. Most don't ramble on that long, but you seem determined to annoy me tonight. So, have you figured out what you want yet, or am I gonna have to put up with you humming and hawing over my stuff?"

"I'M annoying YOU? I came here, to YOUR store, to get some sort of chocolate and that's somehow a BURDEN on you? You're unbelievable!" The brunette ranted, throwing her arms up in outrage, as if it was some major offense to have stated the obvious. It was close to closing time. Santana had clean up to do. She WAS annoyed.

"And you're taking your sweet ass time ordering, so I'll speed things along. It's cold tonight, and you're tiny, so some hot chocolate mix would probably work well. And for more immediate needs, you could get some brownies, a few cupcakes, or something. That work for you?" Santana asked, rolling her eyes, deciding to be a little less snarky and a little more helpful so that the whole ordeal could be over with sooner.

"Well, I'm technically vegan, so I'm not sure what I can eat out of your products, though my boyfriend has been pressuring me into being a vegetarian instead, so I'm pretty sure if I did what he wanted, most of what you have would be okay, but I've been vegan for over twelve years, and it makes me anxious and guilty to step away from that, and eating milk chocolate will likely make me feel even guiltier, and…" The woman rambled hastily, her struggle clear both through her words and body language, and while the brunette speaking in paragraph form was annoying as hell, Santana was more annoyed by the boyfriend. Honestly, she wasn't one to discriminate or hate people for their eating habits, she owned a damn chocolate shop of all things, and hearing that the woman was being pressured by her boyfriend to change that for him was a piss off.

Santana let out a sigh and began gathering a few things from her shelf and the bins behind the counter, quickly lining up the stack of items on the front counter beside an empty gift basket. "Okay, so here's how this is gonna go, because I'm feeling generous and I got a lot of tips tonight. Here's three chocolate bars…two are 53% and one is 70% and a little fruity and spicy. They're all dark chocolate and all vegan. Guilt free, so nibble away at them like a woodland creature or bake with them, whatever you want. On top of that, I have a bag of dark chocolate covered grahams, because they're a decent snack and also vegan. There's a small bag of hot chocolate mix, which again is vegan…it's my personal spiced blend, because it's fucking cold outside and a lot of these buildings around here have shit for heaters and furnaces, and it's my best seller in the winter for a reason. And…if you feel up to it, a handful of milk chocolate covered strawberries, because if you're gonna give in and try being veggie, you can at least have it be something healthier. Twenty percent off because if some of this stuff isn't sold before I close tonight, I'm bringing it home and my roommate will eat it and complain to me about getting fat all weekend long. Half off if you tell your boyfriend you're staying vegan and that he can go fuck himself."

Santana cocked an eyebrow at the customer, feeling she'd laid out a pretty enticing offer all things considered. In truth, only the strawberries wouldn't be sold the next day, but the grahams were getting a little older, going on two days now. Still tasty and fresh enough, though.

The customer bit her lip and teetered forward, leaning against the counter and scoping out the products. "That's a lot of chocolate. Probably expensive."

"Not so expensive if you take the half off deal." Santana noted with a smirk, catching the brunette's slightly flustered gaze.

"I'm not going to tell my boyfriend to…to…fudge off." The woman mumbled, blushing fiercely; it was almost kind of cute, really. They were in a haven of profanity, and the customer was refusing to swear. Kind of adorable.

Santana knelt down and pulled out one of the sampler bags she'd occasionally give to kids if their parents spent a ridiculous amount of money in one go. And hell, the woman was about the same size as most kids of a reasonable age, anyway. She checked to make sure the contents were all vegan, just containing some grahams, chocolate covered raisins, and a peanut butter cup. If she were to be honest, Santana wouldn't be able to say why she was considering being so kind to the woman. Maybe it was because she hated when people told her what to do and saw that the woman was struggling with that from someone who should have known better.

"It's late and I need to get back to cleaning up, so take this sampler, and call me when you make up your mind." Santana stated as she handed over the bag, promptly stepping away afterward toward the mop so she could hopefully not get home late. Despite working such late shifts, she always had to wake up early, and even a half hour of lost sleep was enough to really make a difference.

It was ten minutes to close when she heard the brunette call her over and Santana felt thankful that she'd accomplished pretty much everything except emptying the cash and re-organizing the stock room. As she approached the front counter, she could see that the sampler bag had been emptied, and the brunette was hungrily staring at the products she'd laid out on the counter nearly half an hour ago.

"I think I'd like to take you up on your offer." The woman stated confidently, her eyes never leaving the bag of chocolate grahams. Santana smirked victoriously, knowing her rather sinfully delicious treats were hard to resist.

"And which one is that?" Santana asked, tilting her head to the side a bit in question, wondering if the woman would have the brass ovaries to stand up for herself.

Her customer teetered back and forth, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously. "If…if I really strongly oppose his declarations that me being a vegan is stupid, but decide not to utilize curse words in doing so, does the larger deal still stand?"

Santana felt herself scowl instinctively at the newly gained knowledge, biting back remarks about the boyfriend that would probably get her arrested for some violation or another, being that they were all basically threats of some sort. "Sure, kitten. Just don't take that shit from him…if you're cool being vegan like I'm cool being a meat-eater, then fuck, whatever. Own that, like all the other crazy vegans who stop by here. No reason to feel guilty about any of that. Now, if you stop by my shop daily for two bags of brownies like a fat ass for months on end, maybe then you should reconsider your life choices." She finished, shifting her gaze to the five cops still hanging out in the corner of her shop, Lucas having clearly finished his second bag. After being graced with yet another middle finger waved in her direction, she looked back to the blushing customer.

"I suppose I'll take the gift basket then." The brunette noted quietly with a small smile, sounding a little shy of all things. Which, really, just meant that if the woman stopped by again in the future, she'd direct her teasing to probably take advantage of that. "And thank you. I suppose it would be unhealthy to bow to all of my boyfriend's demands, especially ones that would compromise my personal ethics for his convenience."

Santana shrugged and packaged up the items, wrapping the bag in plastic to shield it from the light snowfall outside. "All in a day's work." She noted playfully, ringing up the woman's total and activating the debit machine.

Once completed, the woman took hold of the basket, flashed her a thankful smile, and turned toward the door, stopping just a few feet from it. "Just for your information, my name is Rachel Berry, not 'kitten'." The woman said with slightly narrowed eyes, looking over her shoulder.

Santana shook her head and smirked, feeling that maybe she'd have another regular popping by her shop after this. "Sure thing, kitten." She answered with a teasing smile, watching the woman's blush deepen before her newest customer walked out of the shop and into the wintery night. Maybe the woman HAD been a little annoying at times, and definitely wasn't anything like her usual demographic, but there was just something about her that had Santana hoping that the brunette would return sooner rather than later.

Or, you know, it could just be the fumes from all the cleaning products getting to her head.


	2. Devil's Advocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana's noticed something of a pattern with her favourite patron, and can't help but feel a little worry penetrate the joy of raking in all the profit from the holiday seasons. Thankfully, she never needs to stay curious about it, because Rachel, ever the dramatic one, always seems happy to ramble...

November and December were Santana's best months, financially; everyone was still getting used to the inevitable cold snap washing over the city, and were desperate for something warm. Coffee filled that niche for some, but chocolate infused coffee and hot chocolate were Santana's meal tickets in those months. Combine that with all the birthdays, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah and Christmas gifts people would order from her shop, and her revenues tended to double what she made during the spring and fall months.

It was also nice to have a fuller shop than usual; mostly because she could insult more of her patrons from the comfort of her kitchen, but also because it just made for a more comfortable environment. Santana had grown up with a large family, with massive get-togethers, and with some of her family members putting in hours at her shop to accommodate the demand in the winter months, it just made work feel like home. And her patrons likely enjoyed having a warm shop with a hot cup of cocoa in front of them, and the smell of coffee and chocolate in the air, a direct contrast to the bitter cold of winter outside.

In a way, Santana would probably miss the night shifts she'd been pulling for such a long time; come March, Quinn's internship at the Village Voice would turn into a full time position, and her roommate would finally be able to work from home during the day again. Not that Santana hated night shifts, or even preferred day shifts. She just hated working from two in the afternoon until past midnight, only to wake up a few short hours later to get the early morning baking done. A year of working seven days a week on four or five hours of sleep a night hadn't done her any favours, and the split shift dynamic wreaked havoc on her health sometimes even more than Quinn's kid did during her free time-slash-babysitting hours. Beth feeling too old for naps most mornings just made it that much harder to deal with, because the kid just didn't understand why Santana was so tired all the time.

In short, she'd miss her crazy cast of night-time customers, but she'd love the sleep and the favours Quinn owed her for covering babysitting duties five days a week for a little over a year. It just made sense to work the morning shift and stick around as long as she needed to, rather than basically have to manage two short sleeping periods during her days due to opening and closing her shop daily.

In all honesty, despite the woman's craziness, she'd probably miss Rachel the most out of all her nighttime customers. The diva just seemed to attract drama and insanity, and it made for eventful nights. Santana had learned the woman was working an off-Broadway play over at the Brooklyn Academy of Music most nights of the week, as well as studying at NYADA over in Manhattan during the day. That meant the woman would generally get out late, but even so she'd managed to attract a lot of weirdness.

Such as tracking in a group of Christmas carolers one night in early December. Or how Rachel happened upon a leash attached to seven dogs of varying size, and inexplicably came to the café for advice on what to do after being dragged for what looked to be at least half a mile from the accumulated snow and dirt on the poor woman's body. Or how Rachel had been mugged by a clown on the subway. Or the time a passing preschooler stole her shoe at a crosswalk. The stories went on and on, and Santana had to believe the woman was cursed. And, honestly, that she was sort of cursed as well because Berry kept finding her way to Santana's shop as a form of cathartic release, and that led to a lot of the diva talking in paragraphs.

However, beside the fact that the woman talked more than any reasonable person should, she was pretty great to have as a customer. Rachel would, often enough, come by before performances with an order for herself and the rest of the people involved in her show, and that led to a lot of profit. And when Berry stopped by after shows, it was usually for one of the more expensive, fancy hot chocolates; the woman would take her mug and sit at a table near the window, watching the snow fall if there was any, and rest her legs. They'd occasionally chat a bit during Berry's stay, mostly Santana teasing the diva over varying things, and once the drink was done or Santana had to close up shop, the actress would head out with a wave and a smile. It was nice.

What wasn't nice were the phone-calls. Occasionally, but certainly growing more common over time, Rachel would get a call and step outside. Now, Santana was a bit of a snoop, but she honestly didn't really care much about her customers' lives outside of what they brought into her shop. So she really didn't try to pay attention, but it wasn't hard to notice the furious pacing outside, the muted yelling through the window, or the frustrated and sad expression Berry wore when returning inside.

From what Santana understood, the whole boyfriend situation hadn't improved for Rachel, and the guy was still a grade-A asshole. Sure, she didn't know much about him outside of the fact that he worked construction, he was controlling, both he and Rachel lived together up in Bushwick somewhere, and he seemed to make Berry upset more than anything else for as long as Santana knew the diva. Which, admittedly, wasn't long at all, but it was enough to give her a bad feeling about the guy.

So maybe it wasn't a surprise that things between the two just seemed to escalate from mid December leading up to February twenty-fifth.

* * *

Santana was rarely wrong when making predictions, often playing it safe with her guesswork, but she was once again proven correct when Berry popped into her shop for the third straight Thursday night, looking like she was fresh out of one of the worst seasonal plays that had ever existed.

As soon as her eyes scanned over the diva's rainbow striped coat, Santana burst into gales of laughter, her current customer taking the cue to look over his shoulder and snicker at the fashion faux-pas. Which, really, was sad when someone in the police force had a greater ability to dress themselves than someone engaged in the arts.

Santana quickly finished up the man's order and, still snickering from the hilarious get-up Berry was in, waved the diva to come up to the counter.

"What can I get for you, Joseph?" She asked, fighting the tail end of her laughter to ensure it didn't descend into a giggle fit. The last thing she needed was Rachel getting the upper hand with that.

Rachel huffed and went tense with seeming anger. However, it seemed that Rachel was at least smart enough to catch onto her reference after a short delay, deflating and cocking her head to the side in question before her face further fell to an unimpressed scowl. "Ha ha ha." Berry grit out sarcastically, crossing her arms to further her disapproval. "I'll have you know this jacket is very comfortable, warm, and does not at all resemble any current costume renditions of the amazing technicolor dream coat. Additionally, my friend Kurt, who works for Vogue, was supportive of my decision to buy this, and many take his fashion advice quite seriously in the columns he writes."

Santana pushed herself up against the counter, peeking over it to see the rest of the diva's outfit. The coat hid a lot of it, but she did spot orange tights and yellow snow boots on top of the gaudy white beret on Berry's head. The whole ensemble was just a little too much, and another brief bout of laughter burst from her lips, feeling immediately certain that the day had become infinitely better. It was probably the best thing about having Berry as a customer; it was always so easy to find something to tease her about, always something that had her laughing for some odd reason. Sure, she liked insulting and being snarky with her customers well enough, but nothing really beat a good laugh.

"I've got serious doubt your boy works at Vogue, because if he told you that was okay, he must be an advocate for getting dressed in the dark. Wow." Santana stated with the utmost amusement, ignoring Rachel's deepening scowl as she allowed herself time to catch her breath and relax after witnessing that clothing disastrophe fully. But hey, she could at least say that Berry's fashion sense wasn't entirely despicable; she hadn't spotted any overdoses of argyle or hand-knit animal sweaters. Yet.

"If you're finished making fun of my attire, I would like to make an inquiry about your wares." The diva grumbled, stomping her foot in displeasure, which only made the woman more endearingly cute than intimidating.

Santana nodded, leaning back off the counter so that she could look at her goods and inventory list if need be. "Okay, kitten, ask away." She stated with a smirk, giving the woman a bit of a break after ribbing her so much.

"Which of your foods would survive being shipped to Ohio without melting?" Berry asked, dead serious, as if it was a deeply important issue. Which, it must have been for Rachel to ignore the kitten remark for once. Santana almost wanted to point to the window showing the snowy weather outside.

"It's winter." She stated anyway, figuring it's about as concise as she could reasonably get, while making her point. However, the diva just looked back at Santana, her mouth quirking to the side in concern. "Okay, so I've pretty much established nothing's gonna melt, but I'll entertain you, kitten. Where in Ohio? What's the occasion?"

Berry scuffed her shoe on the flooring, a move she would have otherwise called out if the woman didn't look so damn downcast. "Western Ohio, for my daddy Hiram's birthday." So few words were spoken, but up until that point in Santana's life, she'd never quite heard someone sound quite so decisively glum. It was a little concerning, even with her usual hands-off approach to her customers. Still, she wasn't about to just throw out the big ol' empathy card quite yet.

"What's up?" She asked simply, figuring that was a safe way to breach whatever topic was on Berry's mind. Thankfully, she knew if the woman would come in here with weird problems every time, at least she came in close enough to close where she could take her time with the diva.

"It's nothing…it's nothing, really. I normally travel back home for my dads' birthdays, at least for the past few years, because daddy got in a car accident a while ago and has been pretty skittish about long rides ever since." Berry rambled, lolling back and forth on the balls of her feet nervously. Santana decided to file away the fact that Rachel had two fathers for later, figuring there was a bit more work to do on the matter of travel, and why Berry would need to ship her shit instead of hand deliver it.

"So why aren't you this time? Big gig to go to instead? Or a schedule filled with elf roles for Christmas specials?" She asked, knowing it was pressing for details a little, but she was kind of nosey, and Berry was acting suspiciously like someone with a lot of words on the tip of her tongue. So, really, the wordless shrug she received for her efforts just wasn't good enough, nor was the suspiciously apathetic eyeroll over her remark about Berry's height. "If you think a little shoulder shimmy's an answer anywhere outside mid nineteen-hundreds show tunes, kitten, you've got another thing coming."

"My boyfriend wou…couldn't get the weekend off. He's the only one of us with a vehicle." Rachel stumbled out, the slip in her choice of words at the start clarifying the situation pretty well for Santana. It was the second time he'd been brought up in conversation, but she really didn't have a good feeling about the guy. "And for the twenty-second time, I'm not a kitten. We actually share very few similar traits, I'll have you know."

Waving off the rebuttal to her enduring nickname for the diva, she quickly considered what options the woman might have, and started with the easiest. "And he couldn't just lend it to you? What, does he need it for work?" She asked, once again leaning slightly against the counter, feeling kind of invested into the issue now. To her defense, there really wasn't much else to do, that time of night. Too early to start closing, too late to prep more product.

Berry met her with a second shrug, which was a little frustrating, so she was thankful that the woman decided to add to it with some of her usual verbosity. "No, usually his friends pick him up to carpool, and use the saved money at the end of the week for a night out. The truck is almost always available, technically. He just doesn't like when I drive it. I have to adjust the seat, mirrors and steering wheel, and he hates moving them back, and apparently I never get that right either. That, and because I learned to drive in a rural area, and this is New York, I'm apparently not proficient enough to drive here, which I can understand to a degree, but we really don't live far from an onramp to a highway, and that negates the city driving aspect in my mind, but apparently not his. Which is hypocritical since he grew up in rural New Jersey, nowhere near this wonderful city. Anyway, I'm not allowed."

Santana nodded slowly, taking in the information. Sure, if she'd grown up with a vehicle in the city, maybe she'd treat it like her baby like her own cousin did with his old Cougar, but with a truck? And if her girlfriend had needed it to get somewhere important? It just seemed a little much. Nothing an afternoon of getting them acclimated wouldn't solve, at least.

"What about planes? Trains? Automobiles that begin with the letter B or C?" She asked with a smirk, drawing an odd sad smile from the diva across the counter.

"Daddy loved that movie…we'd always watch it this time of year when I still lived with them." Berry noted wistfully, her voice soft and quiet and barely audible amongst the moderately loud conversation among some paramedics off in the corner of the shop.

Deciding it was probably an appropriate gesture, Santana quickly churned out a fresh mug of her hot chocolate for the diva, sliding it across the counter to Berry's mittened hands. Rachel's appreciative smile had her wondering if the diva was making her go soft, even if just around the edges, but she didn't really care too much at the moment if that was the case. Not like she didn't already have one Beth Fabray constantly melting her heart on a regular basis. Having a customer toss rainbow mini-marshmallows on that melted heart was hardly all that much of an impact in the grand scheme of things. Not like she'd stop teasing the diva or anything. Not a chance in hell.

"Thank you." Berry whispered before taking a brief sip from the steaming mug, a small smile stretching at her lips. Not that Santana needed to know her drink was freaking awesome, but it was always nice to see her customers really enjoying the stuff. "Anyway, I don't have the money to afford airfare, so planes aren't an option. Trains are typically equally expensive, and don't head out to Ohio on their own, anyway. Because of the lacking longitudinal transportation in this country, I'd be taking a bus-train mix that would have me spending around nineteen hours in travel time, at a minimum of around a hundred and fifty dollars each way. Even just by bus it'd be that expensive. Renting a car would be around three hundred with taxes, and then there's gas on top of that, which is about as expensive as the bus and train ideas as well. It's just…expensive. I get paid well enough to pay my share of the bills and put a little aside for student loans, but…not enough to afford that. Not while also missing a weekend of work."

Santana had to give Berry credit, she'd definitely thought the situation through back to front pretty well. She'd never been to Ohio, so Santana honestly had little idea of how long it'd usually take to drive there, but the nearly twenty hour bus and train trip seemed a bit egregious to say the least.

With a nod, she went about gathering what would best survive a trip halfway across the country intact; really, that constituted most of her wares, but she restricted herself to some of the stuff where freshness wasn't necessarily as much of an issue. Once spread out on the countertop, Berry got on her tippytoes and began sorting them out, the diva's brow furrowed in concentration as she made her decisions. "I'll have my selections shortly, I promise."

"No need to promise, I'm sure you do everything shortly." Santana joked, earning an exceedingly dramatic eye roll from the diva, who huffed and continued her sorting process. "I still say… if you're street savvy enough to avoid the serial killers and sex traffickers, look for carpools heading out west. It's two weeks 'til Christmas, and a lot are starting to head back now, so grabbing a spare seat and paying a small fee could work for you. The kids in school who plan to head home could really help, you know? Of course, there's the issue of getting back, but it'd save you money so long as you could deal with not taking much luggage with you." Santana stated, packaging up Rachel's selections as she made them, arranging them as compactly as possible in the box, not really caring much about the décor of the placement given she needed to care more about potential damage during shipment.

Still, she did ensure her shipment boxes were alright looking, what with the festive red and gold reinforced wrapping paper she used, as well as the fiery red and black ribbon bow used to finish the look. When Rachel was done sorting, she closed the box and wrapped it up, sealing the deal nicely by placing it in a takeout bag to keep it from getting wet from the weather.

Berry quirked her head to the side in thought before nodding. "I'll give that route some thought, it honestly hadn't crossed my mind. I could ask around with some old friends to see if they're heading that way any time soon, I suppose, or check around the school's boards."

San nodded and stepped out from behind her counter, peeking around the corner of her shop so she could see if Gord was still around. Luckily, he was still there, nursing a cool cup of hot chocolate and looking invested in whatever was on his e-reader. "Hey Gord!" She called out, gaining the balding man's attention, his body recoiling back a little in response, seeming to expect one of her regular insults. "Hey now, don't get skittish on me, you ass. Though I will say, it's nice to see I've conditioned you to expect the worst from me. Anyway, you help load planes with shit over at LaGuardia, right? What shipping company's workers are the least likely to be bastards?"

Unsurprisingly, not having anything remotely close to a funny bone in his body, Gord just rolled his eyes. "They're all fucking bastards, San. Every fucking one." The man grunted, taking a sip of his drink and grimacing, probably over how cool it had gotten. Just never tasted the same. "But if you had to, standard postal service is probably the best. Back when they had an office at the airport, bastards weren't smart enough to read which side was up, but they didn't play volleyball with your shit like others do, from what I've heard."

"Wipe that frown off your ugly mug and get a refill. Not every day you actually prove useful." Santana snarked, returning to her spot behind the counter, prepping another fresh mug and setting it on the end of the counter for Gord to take whenever he got his lazy ass out of his seat.

"Thank you…San? Is that your name?" Berry asked, and it had Santana realizing that the woman just straight up hadn't known her name beforehand. She didn't advertise it, but people just tended to know from word of mouth by her fairly well networked clientele.

"Santana Lopez. You could always call me San, but then I'd have to tease you more to make up for it." She explained, earned a quirked eyebrow in response from the diva, who apparently needed more explanation. Letting out a sigh, Santana continued. "Only my family gets to shorten my name without a bit of payback."

Berry tapped her chin, appearing deep in thought for a few seconds before fixing her gaze straight at Santana's. "Well, San, if you insist on calling me kitten, I guess you'll just have to deal with me being efficient with your name."

Santana rolled her eyes at the woman's decision, knowing she'd probably get that much more annoyed with her going forward. However she did like the playfulness the diva was exuding. Much better than the moping woman who seemed far too down and out earlier. Despite it being damn large and kind of annoyingly bright, Rachel seemed like the kind of person who should be smiling way more than frowning. Still, they had been standing around talking for a bit, and it was probably in their best interests to move the whole transaction along so they could both go about the rest of their evenings, even if there wasn't a line aside from Roy, who really didn't need his fourth helping of cake tonight.

"Anyway, the total's twenty-eight seventy-five. No major discounts this time, though your boyfriend sounds like…to put it politely, because I know your virgin kitty ears aren't used to cursing…a fucking piece of work." She noted as she rang the total up, choosing not to add the mug of hot chocolate to the mix. It was the season for making coin hand over fist, and she could allow herself the occasional free gift to customers.

"Not that it's any of your business…but Finn's nice. He's a wonderful boyfriend and roommate. He's simply particular about some things, is all." Rachel defended, her glare only halfhearted, much like her response. Not that there wasn't sincerity in Berry's expression, because there was; there was just too much hesitation for Santana to feel that Rachel always felt that way about him.

"And that's probably true or whatever, but family's important. I don't give a hot, wet monkey's ass who you are… deciding to keep your partner from visiting their family because you don't want to have to adjust your seat when they get back is horseshit. Just like telling your partner they're stupid for being a vegan. But hey, like you said, he's nice. Which probably puts him in the fiftieth percentile of the population… congrats." Santana shot back with a raised eyebrow, handing the purchase over to Rachel, whose jaw was set in anger. She knew she was pressing the diva's buttons and getting personal, but she'd never exactly been one to hold back. Santana had been hurt by turning a blind eye to her past girlfriends' flaws, and since Berry brought him up, she wasn't about to let his shit slide.

She knew when Rachel stormed out of her shop that the diva probably wouldn't come back for another week or so, but maybe it was worth it if it got Berry thinking a little more critically about that boyfriend of hers. Maybe he was a good guy who just had a few bad days. That shit happens. While she hoped that was the case, Santana had a feeling over the next few weeks, there would be more tales about him.

* * *

There was a certain thrill to passing the Valentine's Day milestone on the calendar. Sure, business would predictably take a dip for a bit, but Santana couldn't help but feel a little chipper knowing she wouldn't have to deal with lovey-dovey people prancing into her shop all sweet-like and innocent, asking about which her baked goods would fit their significant others the best. Christmas was over, New Years was over, and Valentine's Day was over, and with it the spring thaw seemed on the horizon.

So even though it was only the fifteenth of February, she still couldn't help but find herself grinning randomly at the prospect of having her usual ornery customers taking up her time instead of the seasonals.

"I don't get it." She heard her sister Amelia note to her from the back area, prepping a table to start making truffles. It was one of the few skills she'd tried to transfer to her little sis that actually managed to stick. Sometimes she thought about enlisting more skilled help like she had with Dani to replace the girl, but Santana was pretty sure her mom would string her up for even considering it.

"You don't get what?" She called back as she finished an order for a relatively fresh-faced paramedic. Santana was pretty sure his name was Khris, with a K, but she couldn't be totally sure; he'd just graduated or something, and it was his first big boy job, which was cool for him and for her. He was getting experience in a lot of things, including the fact that having a decently paying job didn't mean he could afford to head to her chocolate shop each night without eventually running out of cash. Cash that benefited her by filling her cash register. Still, despite his inexperience, she'd take it. She always did. It was important to learn from mistakes.

"Well, I don't see strings, and no one's hand is up your ass to puppeteer you, yet you're kind of smiling. And not your usual devilish sort of smile, but one that almost makes you look human if people don't look too close." Amelia snarked out, and Santana had to refrain from nodding in appreciation of the remark, knowing it was probably the girl's best one since the previous summer. Poor Amelia had just really dropped the ball on the sort of humour the clientele had come to expect, and thus had been pushed to the back of the shop accordingly.

It was kind of exciting, and had she not just been insulted, she would have been smiling from ear to ear, knowing the girl would maybe be able to handle the night shift once she was able to move back to days. Well, she'd still probably have to handcuff Amelia with someone else, maybe taking Dani from the day shift to work nights.

"Ah, that's the look of genuine bliss. It only comes around for a few moments each day, when I look up at the clock and realize I'll only have to make up for your ineptitude for another few minutes." Santana shot back dismissively, restocking the front cabinet with a fresh batch of brownies. She knew picking on her sister's ability would have the girl taking her bait. Amelia was predictable in defending her pride.

"Pretty lame comeback, San. Losing your touch in your old age? Besides, we both now I'm awesome here and you'd be lost without me." Amelia laughed, starting work on the truffles, not moving all too fast, but at least Santana knew they'd get done properly eventually.

"Yet, I've managed my business for years and only just recently hired you because Melanie moved to California, and Quinn's still pulling that favour from me." She answered, tapping her fingers against the counter as her next customer was clearly waffling over their order. Predictable. "Let's face it, with all the shameless flirting you do, I ALWAYS have to make sure I could handle the shop without you in case you go all red-side garter snake on the cops and paramedics here, and try for an orgy in the seating area."

Amelia scoffed, but the girl clearly knew she'd been caught. Thankfully, her sister didn't even deny it. "So I like a man in uniform. Is that a crime?"

"No, but you ARE working so damn slow it's criminal." Santana noted, stilling in place in confusion as she spotted one Rachel Berry slip into the shop much earlier than normal. "Now get back to work and stop daydreaming about negotiating your way out of a public indecency ticket. You can leave when the truffles are done."

Santana took her time getting through her lineup of customers; it was a little after the usual late afternoon rush, and a little before the mid-evening rush, so there wasn't really any hurry to get everyone out in record time. It bought her the opportunity to wrack her mind over why Berry would be at her shop so early, given the woman's routine always had her coming in either just after seven-thirty or near close, not quarter after six in the evening.

So she sold her fresh brownies, she sold two hot chocolates, she sold a slice of chocolate cake and some truffles, she sold a box of a half dozen cupcakes, and finally she had a customer fuck off for even asking if she stocked chocolate wine.

Santana was still seething in irritation as the customer stormed out of the shop, leaving Rachel last in line after the brief mini-rush. "Seriously, of all the things to…like, fuck, chocolate wine? There is a LINE that does NOT get crossed. Ugh!"

"I take it the…rather unusual combination isn't very tasty?" Rachel asked, no doubt having overheard her basically yelling the guy out of her shop over the heresy of it all.

"It's like drinking the devil's diarrhea." Santana stated with a full-body shudder, her mind flashing back to the single experience of drinking the rancid liquid. Unforgettable and entirely regrettable.

"I…" Rachel began, only to grimace with such visible disgust that Santana thought the girl might be sick. "That is repulsive. Tell me something happy or nice to get the imagined taste out of my mouth, please!"

Santana pondered whether she should relieve the girl or take the opportunity to poke fun at her sister again. "Well, Amelia back there once mixed a shamrock shake with red bull, a pinch of paprika, and a few tablespoons of my dark chocolate sauce."

"SANTANA, YOU SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!" She ignored Amelia's shrieking from the back room and grinned at Rachel's baffled and displeased expression, knowing she'd swapped the chocolate wine for another entirely ghastly mixture.

"My cousin Mariela somehow convinced her it would taste good and give her the liquid courage to ask out some stupid boy she liked. Little Amelia just ended up vomiting it on his feet. Made for a fun high school graduation." Santana said with a chuckle, and was pleased to see that even if Berry thought it was gross, there was a hint of a smile on her lips as well. It seemed like the perfect prudish little angel could take some delight in other peoples' suffering after all. "So, what'll it be tonight, kitten?"

Berry's left foot predictably stomped against her floor in protest, as usual. Yet, the whole reaction never got old; not the petulant pout and certainly not the negatively intimidating 'aggressive' body language from the diva. "This is nearing the fiftieth time I have requested you not call me 'kitten' anymore, SAN." Rachel spoke, glowering at her with a flinty gaze that she could almost take seriously. A faintly audible 'oooh' from the back let Santana know her sister was probably slacking off and listening in, but whatever.

"What can I say? I love milestones. Do ask me when we hit our golden anniversary, though." She shot back, holding back her amusement to feign a faraway sort of thoughtfulness as she tapped her chin and stared out the shop's biggest window, drawing a questioning look from the diva. "Just don't expect actual gold from me. Well, maybe a goldfish named Binky, but that's my limit."

Santana was a little surprised to earn a laugh instead of a frustrated scoff from Rachel, given that it was the usual reaction to her teasing and games. "Binky? Why in the world would you name a goldfish Binky?"

"It's a nice name. I have my reasons." She answered, not really wanting to reveal that she was a little bit of a book lover; it was more or less how she and Quinn had met, and as far as Santana was concerned, the blonde and her own family were the only people who needed to be aware of that hobby of hers. Staying in on Saturday nights to read instead of partying and getting drunk happened often enough, at least when she hadn't been working nights at the shop.

"Anyway, yes, I came here with a problem in need of solving, and I could very much use your help." Rachel stated diplomatically, which was a bit of a red flag, because across the past months, the girl was only overly formal when she was feeling threatened or vulnerable. "I…I may have messed up pretty badly the other night, and I need something to help fix it."

Santana nodded her head at the limited information. It seemed plausible enough, given Rachel's clumsiness and tendency to attract or seek out trouble. After all, the woman HAD barged into the shop not a week earlier, panicking and loudly exclaiming that she thought she committed robbery. In her chocolate shop. A shop that had been half full of police officers at the time. Turned out she accidentally walked out of some store with a tube of chapstick, which she paid for when escorted back to the store, but still, the diva was a bit of a magnet for trouble.

"What could you possibly have done that warrants gifting someone else with my prized delicacies?" She purred theatrically, feeling a little victorious at the deeply reddened cheeks and the deep scowl on Rachel's face.

The diva scuffed her boots on her floor as her stoic mask fell away, the woman worrying her lower lip agitatedly as Santana waited for an answer. "Well…you see…yesterday was Valentine's Day." Rachel started, and since it didn't really tell her anything about the issue at hand, she just nodded for the diva to continue. "My…"

Santana waited patiently for Berry to continue, but after a few long seconds of silence and a pleading look from the woman, she leaned a little over the counter, letting Rachel speak more privately to her, given the shop's ambient noise level. "My monthly visitor came the other day, and…and…and he'd planned the whole night out, with the restaurant, and some flowers, and…woman to woman, it didn't end like it should have, or at least like he'd hoped. I know he doesn't like that time of the month."

Santana could hardly believe Berry was being so candid with her; given the diva's normal prudish privacy in all matters sexual, she couldn't help but be caught off guard, even if Berry had avoided pretty much all the real words used to describe that shit. And when her brain did clear the fog from the shock, she honestly couldn't help but laugh a little.

And it sucked, because she really hadn't meant to, and the clear hurt on Berry's face felt like there was a drill boring into her heart or something. Metaphorically, of course. It was just that the whole situation was utterly ridiculous, from Berry's candid confession to the actual details of why the woman was in her shop. "Sorry, sorry, I know I shouldn't laugh, but…seriously, is he really THAT against getting his red wings?"

The deep recurring blush on Berry's cheeks should have been enjoyable, but the sad little frown on Rachel's face crushed any amusement, because she'd seen that expression before. It was, like, fucking universal. The sort of one that was full of yearning and desire, and wrapped up in a spiked, steel cage of pure, raw disappointment.

"Kitten, tell me he's at least a frequent flyer on your regular routes." She almost pleaded, because Christ almighty, it wasn't like she had a crush on Berry or anything, but oral was goddamn amazing, and if she was dating someone like that, she'd be indulging that craving on the regular, like coffee-addicts or whatever.

The way Rachel's frown deepened hesitantly had all the playfulness and amusement evacuating Santana, no longer in the mood for teasing or games. Not when her customer's sexual well-being was in peril. "Goddamn it, Rachel. You can't bring up your sex life if it's gonna depress me."

"Look, I just…I kind of just want to make it up to him." Rachel stated, clearly trying to regain her calm confidence from before, but it was failing.

"Make what up to him? He's dating you. You both probably had a nice dinner, good conversation. Probably did some sappy love crap together, or something, too. He should know your schedule by now if you're remotely regular, so what was he expecting? To spend money on a night out and for you, in return, to magically make your uterus stop shedding for the night so he could get past his hangups? Why did he need sex?" Santana ranted quietly, sincerely interested in whatever answers Rachel could offer, because while it was being a little intrusive, she was curious how that sparklingly confident diva from November could possibly be the meek woman in front of her.

"You weren't born under a rock, Santana. There…there are expectations…" Rachel started, and Santana just wasn't up for hearing about some stupid traditions of men buying flowers and dinner and women awarding them with a free pass to 'sweep the chimney' or whatever.

"Fuck expectations!" She blurted out before grabbing the cooling brownies from the rack by the oven, slicing them up, and sliding them into a take-out box for the diva. When she stormed back with the goods, Rachel looked as conflicted as ever, a little mix of frustration, anger and sadness.

Santana sighed as she placed the box on the counter. "Look, I kinda hate Valentine's Day. It was made by people like me to get people like you fat off chocolate and to celebrate hetero love. It's a commercialized piece of shit day, but despite that, it still kind of celebrates love and the people sharing it, okay?" She asked rhetorically, but of course, it didn't stop Rachel Berry from nodding away at her spiel as if it had actually been a real question. She at least felt a little alright to have the diva's complete attention, those big brown eyes peering into her own with a weird sort of hope that had Santana feeling a little skittish. "Anyway, the day's about love, not some dumb tradition, not routine. It's not a day where a guy can buy sex with a fancy dinner, unless you're moonlighting as an escort and were planning to give him the girlfriend experience or something like that. Is sex some prize to be won from you by getting a high score or buying a hot meal?"

And like that, what used to be a slightly happy, hopeful expression shifted into fuming fury, Berry's hands moving to white-knuckle grip the counter top. "Are you inferring that I'm a prostitute, San?" The diva asked, placing extra emphasis on the shortened version of her name, seemingly out of spite. Which, good for her, but it wasn't going to have her backing down. It seemed bizarre that she of all people would be having that sort of talk with Berry, but Santana couldn't let it go. She just couldn't, not after knowing what that sort of thinking had done to Quinn in the past.

"I'm saying that if I was in love with someone, and had the chance to spend an awesome night together, it wouldn't be ruined by not having sex. I mean…Christ, it's not like you menstruate out your mouth or anything, or all the pores of your body. You both could have pulled that John Mayer shit and just explored each other like you were new again, or whatever, because it's more romantic than an obligatory roll in the hay. You could have had a little striptease with a side of oral, or maybe some role-play. He didn't need to skin your cat that specific way, or at all." She stated firmly, trying to hold to euphemisms wherever she could, but her brain just wasn't in full-wit mode at the time, and she was being far more candid than she was comfortable with.

"Look, you didn't owe him anything, and if it meant that much to him, a rain check would suffice for when things go regular again. Because he loves you, right? And he's dating you, so it's just a matter of time before you both jump each other between the sheets, which is how things should be. Last night shouldn't be a big deal, because it's HIS hang-up, there are OTHER things that could have made both you and him happy that HE seemed unwilling to budge on, so HE can be patient. He's not entitled to your body, and you're not a wizard, so don't buy these to apologize to him. Talk to him, maybe let him apologize to YOU for pushing this onto your firebrand, diva self and pulling a fit last night."

Rant over and still feeling the cockles of rage burning in the pit of her soul, Santana turned once more toward the back room, knowing Amelia was probably still there trying to listen in. Thankfully, her sister had seemed to have finished the truffles since she last checked on her, so she had the freedom to make a shooing motion with her hands, letting the girl know she could head home.

Amelia, ever the parasitic socialite, mouthed her a question of who Rachel was, but Santana just shook her head and pointed toward the front door. Thankfully, her sister brought the truffles out to her and proceeded to storm out of the shop in clear annoyance, leaving her alone for the rest of the evening. Which, hey, she loved her sister, but she liked not having to keep tabs on her in the back room all the time, and she liked the idea of Amelia having some sort of social life, too.

It took about a minute for Santana to calm down enough to face Rachel again, and this time there was a nurse waiting in line behind her. She approached the counter and gestured toward the box, not really feeling up for speaking all that much given the verbal diarrhea she'd already had.

Rachel hesitated before nodding and slipping her a twenty. She pushed through the sale and Rachel shifted her box to the far side of the counter, apparently deciding to loiter there despite having hung out in the shop for a decent amount of time already.

Still, business was business, even if she hated the idea of Berry chipping away at her self-worth by apologizing for something that wasn't her fault. Just like how she refused to criticize the nurse for getting arguably the worst stuff she had to offer in the shop. Money was money, it was just that some of it made her feel a little sad sometimes. Not that she cared too much about Berry or anything, but that dude of hers just didn't seem all that great, and the idea of his unworthy ass orgasming after a single bite of her brownies made her feel a little nauseous.

Once the nurse was away with her peanut butter cookies, Santana began putting the truffles onto the display shelves. She could see Rachel out of the corner of her eye, but refused to break whatever ice there was between them this time. If Berry felt the need to explain herself, then she'd be there. Not that she had a choice, as it was her shop, and it was pretty quiet, but whatever.

It was after getting Walt a marked up chocolate fudge sundae from her limited ice-cream reserves, a product she bartered an industry friend for three days past, that Rachel found her way back to the till-area of the counter.

Begrudgingly, Santana slowly wandered over to stand opposite the diva, cocking a questioning eyebrow. The woman had her brownies, she could have left, so there was clearly a reason she was still there, and that reason entirely eluded Santana.

"I'm getting the feeling that you think I'm pathetic." Rachel spoke quietly, her head bowed ever so slightly and eyes nowhere near looking at Santana . "I'm not certain why I feel the need to defend myself to you so often, but…I do. And it's annoying, but I need you to understand."

Santana nodded, though she'd be happy to have Rachel explain. She'd run her shop for a few years, and never had a customer ever really gone all confessional on her before. It didn't make sense; sure, she was voted the best shoulder to cry on in high school, but she was also voted most likely to kill someone with poison. It had been a long time since she got knee deep in anyone's life that wasn't Quinn or her family.

"Well, it's dead right now, so get to talking, I guess." She stated flatly, immediately chiding herself for the indifferent response. Yeah, she wasn't friends with Rachel, but the woman was basically her favourite customer, and she was having a hard time with shit. Shit Santana had dealt with in the past, and had only gotten through with Q's help, and if Berry was coming to her of all people, maybe she was needed. Maybe the fuckstick of a boyfriend kept Rachel from having friends, and she was isolated and needing someone to listen. Santana had no clue. "Look, I don't think you're pathetic, you just…you remind me of some people I know who got hurt, that's all. So just…talk."

"Finn and I have been together for over three years. I've been trying to break into Broadway since I got into NYADA, and I'll be finishing my fourth and final year there this April. The plan was that we'd chase our dreams together, and find our own future. It still is the plan, but Finn hasn't been happy lately. Not for the past year. He…he means so much to me, and we've been through so much together, and I hate seeing him so upset all the time. He's still the man I fell in love with, but…but a lot of those parts of him are hidden away, and I just want them back. I want all of him back." Rachel spoke, softly but at a relatively brisk pace, her enunciation really helping Santana understand without the words melting into each other.

And she did understand, to some degree. Her relationships hadn't ever really been long term. Certainly not three or more years, but she understood the hurt that could fester when the people she loved walled the best parts of themselves away. She understood the panic and desperation it could foster.

"And I don't know how to do that other than…well, other than to just do what he asks sometimes, in hopes he'll be happier. But it usually doesn't work, and I usually just feel worse after it all, and it seems like no matter what I do, I'm sacrificing something I love, and it's so hard. I think he's given up on finding his dream, and I couldn't bear to give up on mine, but when I graduate…what then? What if I don't? What if we both end up deeply unhappy? What if I find success and he gets bitter? There are just so many questions, Santana, and I'm doing my best, and you're just the snarky lady I come to at the end of the day when I need a little comfort food and a place to clear my mind for a little while…but I just need you to know I'm trying my best. I am."

Santana bit the inside of her cheek, a reminder to keep control of herself in front of the woman across the counter, gentle droplets of tears hanging from the diva's long lashes. Rachel was damn passionate, she'd give her that, but like hell would she break role in her shop and give the diva the hug she looked like she wanted. Instead, she stepped away from the counter and readied a fresh mug of hot chocolate and handed it to the woman.

"I believe you." She reinforced her words with a rare genuine smile as Rachel took hold of the steaming hot mug and gripped it tightly. "I don't really like getting into people's lives, because it's not really any of my business, but I can tell you how these things play out."

Rachel's stupidly bright, glimmering eyes held her gaze until Santana gestured for the woman to take a goddamn drink, feeling a little overwhelmed again with the intensity of Berry's attention. Once Rachel had taken a nice long sip and swallowed it, she allowed herself to repeat her mother's words to her aunt Silvia a few years ago. "You're never going to make him happy enough." She stated calmly and with as much confidence as she could muster, knowing she needed to appear like a freaking arbiter of wisdom or whatever. "He needs to find happiness on his own, or with the help of a therapist, but his happiness is not on you. You can't carry that, but you'll want to. You already have, but you have to let it go. If you love him, help him find it, help him get the help he needs, but don't overextend yourself, because you'll only get hurt and no one wants that. It's not being a team player to get the same injuries as your boyfriend."

Rachel's teeth came down upon that lower lip like a vise, but the woman's gaze held firm, all that damned passion rolling around in those soulful mocha irises. "But…But we've always been a team, I've always been hands-on. How do I let go without losing him?"

Santana let out a deep breath through her nose as she considered it, not really used to taking the role of relationship guru. She'd only ever known failure, but maybe, in a weird way, that could be of use. "Be a role model. You both came here to chase your dreams, so take it. Show him it's possible, because I know this city can be a real piece of shit and break people down. Show him your dream is possible, and maybe that'll help him get to a place where he believes he can chase or even nab his own, too. He'll either love and support you when you succeed, or…or he won't be ready to be the person you need him to be going forward. Not yet, not anymore, whatever. Either way, you'll have your answers. Focus on you, guide him to help, and…well, whatever happens, happens."

Rachel nodded along to the improvised advice, her eyes wincing in pain at the end of it, at the finality of Santana's message. "So that's it, then? I just…embrace uncertainty for the first time in my life?"

Santana shifted back down the counter and began finishing placing the truffles into the display case. "Control's a finite resource, kitten. You pick your spots, commit, and hope for the best." She stated carefully, shooting a glance back up at the uncertain looking diva. "Look, you've been splitting between Finn and your career and it's not working. So you can focus on your career and give Finn the inspiration he might need to jump out of his probable depression, because your other attempts really haven't worked…or you can commit to him and live whatever he thinks would be the best escape plan to make him happy. Which would probably end with you either being a singing waitress or a housewife by my guesstimates, and I doubt you'd settle for either at your age, so…"

"At my age? You hardly look older than I am, Santana." Rachel interjected, hands swiftly finding her own hips to initiate some sort of power stance that was probably supposed to be intimidating. "But…yes, I understand where you're coming from with this. You've given me a lot to consider."

She allowed herself a shrug as she finished her display of truffles, happy with how they were laid out on the shelf, hoping they'd sell half as well as they had leading up to Valentine's Day. Hey, she could dream.

"And you've given me withdrawal symptoms from talking so much without insulting anyone." She shot back with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood, or at least her own.

Rachel's amused eye-roll and huff was definitely enough to have Santana feeling back to normal. "You know, you could just be nice to your patrons, San." The diva remarked, casting a cursory glance over to the table of cops that was still going strong since they congregated there over an hour prior.

"Come on, where's the fun in that?" She asked playfully, sending the diva a cheeky wink in hopes it would make Berry blush like a cherry. And truly, it almost did. "Go on, I gotta get a bunch of fire out of my system and your virginal kitten ears probably won't be able to take it."

Rachel let out a small laugh, but conceded a nod. "Not a kitten, but alright, alright. I'll get going. And I think I saw a street musician a few blocks down I could share these brownies with." Berry said with a deep sigh, one that wasn't quite dramatic enough to be theatrical. "Thank you, Santana."

And with that, Rachel was gone into the wintery winds of the February evening, leaving Santana with a shop full of policemen to grill. She rubbed her hands together and began mentally putting together some solid strings of inflammatory material, almost feeling giddy enough for it to show. No matter what genius barbs she thought up, though, she couldn't shake her concern for the diva after their not so little back and forth. Sure, they were still, for a lack of a better term, strangers, but there was just something about Berry that wouldn't eject itself from her mind. In a way, she hoped it would go away soon, but she had a feeling that would only happen the next time she saw the woman.

Which made her a little grumpy, a perfect mood to let her verbal flamethrower out on her adoring patrons.


	3. Bitter Words and Bad Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel and Finn's troubles come to a peak, and Santana finds herself dealing with a late night guest not just at her shop, but at her home

Rachel felt plenty tired as she stepped into her apartment, having had a long, arduous day at school, and having endured an exciting if exhausting premiere of her new play at the BAM. Had she the energy, Rachel would have stopped off at the chocolate shop for a bit of celebration and indulgence, but between the day's events and the audition she had set up for the next afternoon, she just wanted to go to bed and get some rest. Maybe snuggle up with Finn if he was in the mood, but those moments had been growing rarer as weeks passed, and since he hadn't made the time to be at her opening night, she was a little iffy on that, herself. Finn had been a little off lately, and Rachel was hoping that they could do something Sunday before her show to smooth things over and have a little private time together.

She slipped off her winter boots and put on her indoor flats, happy to start getting comfy and get out of her clunky boots; looking around, she could see Finn sitting on the living room couch, not having made a peep over her homecoming.

"Hey, honey. How's your night been?" Rachel asked cautiously, knowing Finn would usually greet her in the foyer if he was awake when she got in. That he was silent and seemed quite aware of her having come home, his eyes tracking her movements as she moved into the living room, only had her more on edge.

"Fine. Bad day tonight, Rach?" Finn responded, though his tone was oddly cool and distant as he clutched his lucky mug in his hands. He looked oddly anxious; Rachel had been used to him being on edge, and he certainly was tonight, but he hadn't shown anxiety in quite some time. Honestly, it had her worried.

Still, she figured her exhaustion could just be visible, and he could be responding to that. "It was actually a pretty wonderful day. I did well on one of my performances at school today, which was a relief, since I've been practicing hard for that. Then, tonight's premiere was perfect, and I'm pretty sure the journalist in the crowd will give us a good review. It was a tiring day, but a good one." She answered, pushing through her exhaustion to smile, truly happy about her day and wanting Finn to see it.

That Finn's expression barely shifted was concerning, though. "Come on, Rach. Let's be real, you're exhausted."

Rachel leaned up against the doorframe, allowing herself a shrug. "Of course, but I still had a good day. My work is physical, even when I headline Broadway, I'll come home exhausted some nights. That's alright."

"It's NOT alright! How much longer are you going to exhaust and excite yourself over nothing?" Finn asked, his brows furrowing in frustration, his words startling Rachel in the anger behind them and the message he was sending. Sure, Finn had been slightly critical, perhaps increasingly so, over the past months, but he'd never shot her down like this before.

Steeling herself for an argument that perhaps was long overdue, Rachel stepped into the living room, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Whenever she was upset, she'd speak fast, and Finn would never be able to keep up, and right now, she needed him to engage in this with her, because she needed to understand where he stood, and he needed to know where she stood as well. Her dreams were possible, and she'd never once given up on them, not before Finn, and not now.

"Nothing? I just had a show premiere tonight led by a man who is co-producing 'Wicked!' on Broadway. Two of my co-stars have had recent Broadway success, and the casting director who brought me in for this play invited me to an audition tomorrow for a project that might make it to Broadway late this year. Tonight was a culmination of years of work in gaining experience and contacts, Finn. That is NOT nothing." Rachel explained carefully and clearly, needing him to understand exactly what gains she'd been making over the past year, so that he could better understand how close she was to breaking out exactly when she'd planned to. "I will continue working and auditioning until it stops making sense, until there's nothing better out there."

Rachel watched Finn brace his hands on the edge of the couch, as if he were to stand up. Yet, he didn't, just staring hard at her in disbelief. "Are you serious right now? Rachel, stop making excuses. What's 'better' out there for you? You've been at this for years, and you're not there. Didn't, like, Thomas Edison say something about doing the same thing and getting the same result being insanity?"

Rachel's teeth ground together at the assertion that she was insane, and that she was making excuses. She'd just tried to explain what she was doing so that he could understand, and hadn't been ready for personal attacks. Not from him. "I would be very careful with your words, Finn. I might have interpreted that as you thinking I'm insane. But I'm not making excuses or mentally unstable, Finn, I'm simply putting in the work to get where I want to. People don't become doctors or lawyers overnight, football players go through college and practice squads before playing in the big leagues. Experience is very important in my career, so I've been getting it. I'm getting close to graduating, closer to Broadway, and I had a really big night, and I'd like for you to be happy for me." Rachel argued, fighting the urge to stomp her foot in protest to his unfounded statements.

"I've tried for years to be happy for you, I've tried to do things your way for years, but I can't anymore, Rach! It's time to grow up and get real lives, together…I know someone at your work keeps feeding you lies and crap, because some nights you come home and you always get really pushy and you argue a lot and it's not right, it's poisoning you! This place isn't right for us, this LIFE isn't right for us!" Finn argued, ambling to his feet, his lips twisting into a scowl as his face went redder with anger.

It was hard to keep track of Finn's vague rambling, Rachel having difficulty understanding what he might mean by 'real lives', how they'd been doing things her way, or his accusations of her hypothetical coworker. To her knowledge, they both had real lives, and to at least some degree they had both been working at their own dreams together instead of doing things her way. Occasionally they did argue or disagree at times when she got home, but Rachel didn't chalk it up to any particular person; sure, the chocolate shop owner would occasionally give her advice and perspective, but their minor spats wouldn't happen more on those nights than on others. At least, Rachel didn't think so.

"Finn, if you think our lives have been framed too much around my wants and needs, we can talk about that, but I won't have you being so hurtful about my work and my life! I'm a real person, Finn, and sometimes I won't agree with you about things, and that's natural. No one's whispering in my ear, I don't even know why you'd think that! All I want is for the both of us to be happy, to live our dreams, and we can accomplish that together if we work together and stay optimistic. If you're unhappy at work, we can find you something that will make you happier, that will be closer to your dream, Finn. I want you to be happy, but me abandoning my life wouldn't be growing up, it would be giving up. I won't do that." Rachel shot back, fists clenched at her sides as Finn walked around the table, stopping a foot or two away, his frame looming over hers, but Rachel had experienced it before. She knew he never meant to intimidate, so she just stared right up at him, waiting for whatever rebuttal he would think up. Given the sheer frustration marring his face, she had a feeling her words hadn't managed to bring him around to see her side of things.

"You keep talking about dreams, but those dreams aren't real. The reality is you're on an off-off-Broadway play making crap money, and I'm working construction making crap money. But we can have something better…I've had a dream of my own for a while, and I'm chasing it now, and it can happen. I know it can, and we're close…we could be so happy, for once." Finn almost pleaded, looking and sounding about as sincere as he ever had, and that had Rachel's full attention, even if she bristled at his dismissal of her happiness, hopes and dreams in favour of his own. She was more than willing to negotiate; they were a team.

"If you have a dream, Finn, then I'm all ears. Let me in, because all these years, you've always been vague about them, and I want to be here for you. I want to help you attain yours, just like I want to accomplish my own dream." She spoke in return, reaching out for his hand, a gesture he thankfully allowed her, Rachel squeezing it in a way that hopefully reassured him of her support. "I want us both to be happy, and while I am, I know you haven't been lately. I want you to be happy, Finn. So tell me, please…what's your dream?"

Finn clasped Rachel's hand around both of his, pulling her a little closer. "God, Rach, it's you. It's…it's me, and you, away from this fucking cesspool and back in New Jersey, living REAL lives, and building a REAL family together."

Rachel couldn't help but be conflicted. On one hand, Finn wanted to have a family with her, which was literally the first time he'd opened up about any concrete hopes for their future, about possibly having kids, or anything along those lines. On the other hand, he once again talked down at the city she'd fallen in love with, the life she was living and loving, and asserting their lives and relationship weren't real enough for him. It was dizzying to process, but she did what she could with the information she'd been given, hoping they could figure something out together and grow from there.

"And I think we could have that too, but we don't need to leave this city, Finn. My life is here. As…as troubling as it is that I'm essentially your dream…something I'll discuss with you later…I do feel that we can have a family, eventually. We can be happy together, and live real, fulfilling lives together here, if we just work harder and support each other. Me on Broadway, and you doing something you love…I remember you wanted to coach football, and I think we could make that happen. There are plenty of schools that could get you there. And I'm happy to support getting you the help you need to get where you need to be, Finn. Just let me help." Rachel pleaded in response, hoping that he would understand and agree, hoping that this anger at the city and at the dreams that had persisted in their lives wasn't too entrenched for him to hear her clearly.

For a moment she saw a flicker of hesitation, but then his brow furrowed, his hands squeezing much tighter around her own, almost painfully. "Don't be stupid, Rachel, this city is killing us! I don't need help, I need to take us away from this fucking hellhole, okay? Everything here is wrong!" He yelled, letting go of her now sore hand and pacing the space in front of her, his hands clenching as his anger seemed to be escalating. Rachel tried stepping to the side, away from the wall she was nearly pressed up against, but it only drew his focus back to her. "How can I be happy when I see you so fucking tired all the time? When you're barely home because school and work steal you from me, and your cast mates are always all over you, and kissing you, and it's WRONG! We can be a REAL family in Jamesburg, we can have REAL lives there. I already gave our sixty days notice to the landlord, and our bags are packed in our room, so we just need to grab them and we can finally go. My mom will take us in until we can find a place of our own, and then we…"

Rachel couldn't help but interrupt him, breaking the unwritten clause in their relationship agreement, because her head was swimming in words and details she hadn't been ready to hear, and it was quickly overwhelming her tired mind. There was too much to focus on, so she keyed in on a single detail that had sent a spark of fury through her. "You gave notice to our landlord? Without me?" Rachel grit out, drawing Finn closer, the goofy smile she once loved to see on his face now bringing sensations of nausea.

"I had to. Rachel, there's nothing here for us, nothing real. Face it, your way wasn't working and I had to take charge, so I did. I'm getting us out of this city tonight." She stated with a joyful tone that more than rubbed her the wrong way, because she'd tried to be polite and calm, she'd tried to play negotiator and really bring them a plan that met both their needs, but she would not tolerate him going behind her back on this, or disregarding her opinions and needs.

"No, Finn, there's nothing here for YOU, because YOU didn't try hard enough to find something that made you happy, and that's on you, not me! It's not my fault your dream crashed and burned, and I know you're upset, but I'm happy here and you can't just throw my life away because you're angry I have one and you don't!" Rachel yelled, trying her best to just keep from freaking out, but as her brain processed everything her boyfriend had said, it was getting much more difficult to not explode from the stress and conflicted storm of emotions.

Perhaps that was why she didn't see his hands in time, Finn's arms shooting forward, impacting against her body and launching her across the room. Rachel felt her side slam against an end-table, her foot catching on its leg in an attempt to balance herself, leaving her with a face full of the coffee-table.

The pain was intense, Rachel's eyes fluttering open at the sensation, feeling something on or around her lips and chin. Finn was leaning over her, saying something, but the throbbing of her head drowned it out as her boyfriend lifted her up and carried her through their apartment, Rachel recognizing their bedroom as the place he set her down, their mattress as comfy as ever. It had been a fine selection of hers two years ago when Finn's old one had gotten too creaky and uncomfortable.

Rachel gave herself a few seconds to acclimate to the pain as Finn sounded like he was shifting some things around in the room. It was weird, he rarely cleaned, so she didn't understand why he was moving things around.

It was the sound of their luggage zipping up that had Rachel shooting up on the bed, recalling the argument that got her there, recalling Finn shoving her hard. Noticing he was distracted a little with packing, she got to her feet and staggered toward the bedroom door.

The feeling of Finn's hand tightly clenching around her wrist stopped her, her boyfriend pulling her uncoordinated body back to his, those familiar arms wrapping around her waist. She could see his lips moving, and some words made it through her haze, but fear overrode any higher functions as she struggled in his grasp, kicking her legs and eventually scoring with a knee to his balls, gaining her hard fought freedom.

As quickly as she could manage, she rushed to the foyer and grabbed for her coat, halfway slipping it on before Finn's body barreled into hers, slamming her against the door. With her arms tangled up in her coat, she managed to work one through its sleeve as he tried to pull her back toward the bedroom.

"Rachel, stop, it's me!" She heard Finn yell out clearly, but she wasn't sure who that was anymore. The Finn she fell for was a kind, gentle man who had loved her and her passion. This wasn't that man.

And that's why she stretched out her hand and raked it down his face as hard as she could, Finn recoiling in pain and clutching at his face with both hands, giving her a free kick to his balls again, sending him to the floor.

Not willing to take a chance at bundling up any more than she was, Rachel rushed back to the door and fled the apartment, bolting down the stairs as fast as she ever had and out of her apartment complex, knowing that there was one area she knew well that Finn didn't.

The wintery winds blew around her, freezing blood and tears to her face as she ran down her street in the dead of night. Her back ached terribly, her lip stung worse than the time she fell out of a tree and split her forehead open, her feet froze as her perforated flats did nothing to keep out the snow and ice, and it hurt to breathe, but she ran.

As she reached the subway, Rachel swore she heard Finn call out after her, and she could only hope there was a car waiting for her down there, and that he wouldn't catch up to her in time.

* * *

Santana's day had started off as usual. She'd managed to close shop on time the night before, so she got some good sleep in before getting back to the shop by ten to six. She and her cousin Mariela got the baking started and opened the shop for six-thirty, and she was home for seven once Dani, her old friend from college and the only non-family staff member, arrived.

Santana saw Quinn off at ten after seven, got Beth her breakfast at seven thirty, and went for a nap on her favourite living room couch shortly after. Beth tackled her sleeping form somewhere around nine, forcing her to play with the young girl for the rest of the morning, which wasn't bad at all, even if her drooping eyelids did protest. Lunch led to a quick music lesson on the piano, and after listening to the girl put finishing touches on her first complete 'big girl' song, Santana found her way to work, swapping out with Mariela, who would fill the remaining two hours before Quinn got home.

Her shift was mostly a blur, business oddly picking up despite the post-holidays lull that usually happened, and by the time ten o'clock rolled around, she was in a blissful state of relaxation, sipping away at some hot chocolate while harassing her regulars. Life was good, and when most left to go home or to get to their midnight shifts, she began her clean-up as usual. Rachel had a show that night, but it wasn't like the woman stopped by before or after every show.

So when the bell above the door rang out at about ten to one, accompanied by a chilly gust of wind flowing into the kitchen from the opened door, she half-expected it to be Gillian, one of the nurses who had a habit of popping in with ten minutes to close, asking for a fresh cup of coffee.

"Hide me." The two weakly spoken words shook Santana from her apathy, her head turning to spot a wide-eyed, terrified looking Rachel Berry with a swollen lip and a trail of blood leaking from her mouth, down her chin.

She barely processed any thoughts before she was halfway across the shop, grabbing the diva by the coat and quickly ushering her into the kitchen area's storage room. The woman was shivering up a damn storm, and was inexplicably wearing shoes no one should wear outside of summertime, so she figured some hiding her somewhere the heat of the ovens could still reach her would be a good thing. Hopefully it'd at least warm the diva up and keep any prying eyes away, whoever Berry was hiding from.

Santana was reaching for the first aid kit when she heard the woman's name yelled loudly from outside the store, freezing her movements and causing the diva to shuffle further into the back of the tiny little room. Santana heard the name called out twice more before the sound of the door's bell spurred her to raise a finger to her lips and walk back out into the kitchen with a broom and Lysol wipes in hand. Santana knew she was one of the few businesses in the area to be open so late, so it wasn't super surprising that someone would pop in.

The smile she forced out was probably far too eager-looking to be remotely realistic, but the tall, ogre-faced man didn't seem to notice its fakeness, eyes too busy darting around her shop.

"Hey, I'm just closing up. Can I get you anything before I shut down the cash?" She asked, looking the man over a little more closely as she stepped up to the front counter. His face was marred with some scratch marks and one of his eyes was partially swollen shut, which she felt was a good look on him if he was the one that had hurt her favourite customer in the performing arts. And honestly, he looked absolutely livid and panicked, which pretty much confirmed that he was the culprit if the yelling of Berry's name hadn't already.

"I'm looking for my girlfriend. We got mugged and she ran off all scared, and I can't find her. She's short, brunette, probably freaking out." The man spoke quickly, his eyes still darting around the shop observantly. And there was technically a miniscule chance he was telling the truth, but hiding from a random mugger didn't seem too realistic, nor did the notion that the mugger subdued both of them physically to the extent of their injuries. So all in all, Santana felt it was in Berry's best interest to keep her hidden, especially given what she knew of the guy and the fact that the diva hadn't come out on her own volition, instead cowering further in hiding at the sound of his voice. Everything about him screamed guilty, and she was alright with rendering a verdict on her own without a judge and jury at hand.

Santana shrugged, feigning sympathy. "Jeez, I hope she's okay. Only girls that have come by in the past hour were a blonde and a redhead, both nurses from the nearby Methodist after finishing their shifts. Fortunately, there's a cop shop right around the corner. If she knows the area, she probably headed there." Santana answered with a smile, it genuinely spreading when his face paled and he nodded quickly before rushing out of the shop in a hurry.

Feeling a bit of satisfaction in freaking the guy out, Santana quickly locked the door, flipped her sign, and finished the last few seconds of closing up the shop, packing the soon-to-be-stale products up in a bag before heading back to the storage room to check on Rachel. She'd closed three minutes early, which wasn't much, but it meant she'd be able to accompany the woman to the hospital or to the police or whatever. Santana didn't want Berry going anywhere alone at the moment.

When she opened the door, she found one Rachel Berry munching away nervously on a large bag of chocolate covered raisins, looking too sad, scared and guilty under the harsh fluorescent lighting for Santana to even care that the woman had taken some of her stock. It honestly didn't matter.

"He's gone now, so let's get you patched up, alright, kitten?" Santana asked softly, helping a woeful Rachel to her feet and out into the kitchen where she'd have some space to work with, without much drop in privacy. It was clear that Berry had taken a few hits, what with her lip split open along with some bruises that were forming on the left side of her face.

"What, no sharp, witty remarks for me?" Berry asked defensively, a hard edge in her tone as Santana looked her over for any other injuries, noticing that the woman's wrists were looking a little bruised as well.

Santana looked up from the diva's arms to her big brown eyes, seeing that despite the attempt at playing tough, the woman was feeling anything but at the moment. Silently, she placed the opened bag of chocolate covered raisins back in Rachel's hands and got to work at cleaning up the woman's face, frowning at how deep the split was in her lip. Thankfully, it seemed to have clotted a fair bit, so Santana dabbed it clean and applied some polysporin onto it in hopes it would help. Running off the first aid training her crazy cheerleading coach gave her back in high school was a little less than optimal, but it would have to do.

Once done with that, she took a warm, damp facecloth and cleaned Rachel's face off, not wanting the woman to carry around the blood trails and smears to wherever she'd be going. She gave her a small, hopefully reassuring smile when Berry began nibbling again on the raisins, Santana moving her focus and wrapping her little freezer packs to the woman's wrists. They were usually there in case Santana somehow burned herself on something, but they'd do well enough to help with her customer's injuries at the moment.

"Not sure what else I can do for you right now. Where do we go from here, kitten?" she asked, breaking into a smirk when her customer's usual glare was focused on her at the use of the nickname. It was good to see that characteristic defiance and annoyance over her use of the pet name; besides, Santana figured a bit of normalcy would do them both good given the circumstances. It was only a bonus that it made the woman blush every single time, and that was kind of fun to make happen anyway.

Rachel's nervous silence over the next twenty seconds or so had Santana wondering exactly what was going on in the dramatic woman's head. Normally, she could read people pretty well, but Berry was a mystery right then.

Either way, she wasn't going to wait forever. They had to leave the shop sometime soon. "Do you want to go to the police? Cop shop's only a few blocks away, and I'll walk you there. Or we could call in a cruiser to bring you there. I'm sure a few of my regulars working tonight would recognize you, and you'd be taken care of. They're good people, Rachel." Santana asked, earning a shake of the head. Frowning, she considered the other options available. "Okay, no cops. Hospital? The cut on your lip is deep, and I'm not sure if you'll need stitches or not right now. And really, they're safe, no one's gonna go after you in the waiting room. My uncle Gabe works security at the Methodist nearby, nothing would happen there. Again, a bunch of my regulars are working right now, and I'll stick around, and they'd keep you safe, too."

Again, Rachel shook her head almost immediately, which was a little frustrating, because there went Santana's two ways of using her contacts to really make sure things would get done fast and securely. "How about home? I noticed you didn't come here with your usual bag, but I've got cab money. I can escort you back to your place if you want."

"He lives with me, he has a key." Rachel spoke, being careful not to move her lips much, which had her words coming out like a mumble, but it was definitely discernible enough.

At least, for Santana to understand that home, at the moment, was not an option. "Friends?"

"I can't let them see me like this. I…I won't have the energy to endure a million 'I told you so' remarks, and I know…" Rachel started, wincing as her words sped up and her lips began moving a little more than they probably should have.

"Easy, easy." Santana interrupted softly, applying some gentle pressure with a cloth to the woman's mouth in case it started bleeding again. Removing it to find no new blood, she nodded and stepped back. Honestly, she knew the remaining option wasn't much of one, and that she'd probably regret it, but she wasn't about to just turn her back on one of her favourite customers, especially after enduring some serious hell. "I'll take you in for the night, then. No questions, no hassle, just a warm bed and a night to relax and recover. Five minute walk away."

"I couldn't burden you like that, Santana, it's not like…" Rachel started, but Santana was already in her little office nook, grabbing her winter coat and her bag, getting prepped for the winter weather. Sure, it really was just a five or so minute walk, but it didn't change the fact that there was a wind chill outside that would make her face feel like it was freezing into a mask.

"Don't start that crap with me. You came here for help. I'm not done helping. If you can't go to the cops, the hospital, home, or to your friends' places, then you're gonna let me help you, Rachel." Santana asserted as she returned and stood at the doorway to her office, staring the diva down, if only to let the woman know she was dead serious. Like hell was she just going to leave the actress and part ways with her when Rachel was hurting. Her store may be called Devilish Delectables, but she wasn't evil, she wouldn't do that.

Berry's lower lip trembled as the woman's eyes darted around the kitchen area, searching for something Santana wasn't sure Rachel even knew. "I just don't know what to do." The woman mumbled softly, her hands fiddling with the hem of her coat nervously.

It just drove home the fact that she had to make the decision for the both of them at the moment, even if it would take some control away from a woman who probably desperately needed it, but wasn't sure where to find it. "So let me house you until you know. It's not a race, and it's not a jail sentence. If you wake up at four in the morning and figure it out, then you do what you have to do. If you need until tomorrow afternoon or later, then whatever. I just want to move this to a safe, warm space you can heal up in, Rachel. Outside of that, you're in the driver's seat, you make the call, but we're going to at least take a breather at my place. You, me, that bag of raisins, and maybe some hot cocoa to warm us up, alright?"

Santana waited nervously, hoping the diva would at least allow her that much, and would go along with her instead of continuing to freeze up. Santana knew it was a scary situation, perhaps not firsthand but she'd seen family go through that sort of thing, and was trying to remember all the times her mom had managed to help.

Thankfully, Rachel eventually gave a slow nod and lifted her gaze to Santana's. The woman didn't say anything, she honestly didn't need to, the sheer sadness and heartbreak was so clearly written on Rachel's face that it made Santana's chest ache, which was a mostly foreign feeling in recent years.

Santana crossed the kitchen and wrapped Rachel up in her scarf and mittens, wishing she could do something about the woman's feet, but that'd have to wait until they got home.

If it hadn't been made official before, Santana was sure it could be universally declared that winter sucked ass, feeling it should be much warmer than ten degrees out in mid February. The winds were biting, and the sidewalks had been so ineptly cleared that it was a constant dance to keep Rachel from the stretches of snow and ice, as well as from the sharp rocks of salt strewn across the sidewalks that would seriously hurt the diva more, which was unacceptable.

Thankfully, with a bit of creative pathing, Santana guided them as fast as she could to her familiar brownstone, and up to the third floor. It wasn't the most special of condos, but it was home.

Throughout her childhood, it had been her abuela's place, a regular hang-out place for good food and music. At least, until the woman had left to retire in Florida a few months before Santana had graduated high school. The family collectively decided to offer it to Santana, and Quinn by relation, as a graduation gift of sorts. Santana had been pretty sure Quinn and Beth were more the reasons for the offer, her family knowing the blondes needed somewhere to live on a more permanent basis, but Santana partway grew up in that condo, and it had quickly became a home to her.

They quietly crept into the foyer, Santana peeking around the darkness for any signs of life before leading Rachel into the living room and flicking on the lights. "We just have to be quiet. My roommates are deep sleepers, but sometimes the smallest things can wake them up." Santana whispered, guiding Berry to her favourite couch and sitting her down closest to the fireplace, before heading to the kitchen for supplies. She quickly brewed up a mug of cocoa and grabbed some of the firewood from the box behind the garbage can, swiftly returning to the living room to hand off the mug and get to work on lighting a fire. There was a hell of a lot to do, and the last thing she wanted was her guest to be uncomfortable for longer than necessary.

"Not that this place doesn't seem rather lovely…but it appears somewhat small for you to have multiple roommates." Rachel spoke softly, thankfully not bringing up being a burden, even if the diva's body language told her the woman was feeling like one.

"We make do. It can get a little cozy, but I'm used to big families and being crammed like sardines. Even with two roomies, I've got plenty of space here." Santana noted with a shrug, smiling as the log took to the flame she'd started, a sure sign the living room would get magnitudes warmer over the next few minutes.

When she turned away from the fire and back to the diva, it was clear Rachel was a wee bit focused on the musical additions to the space. "The piano and guitar…are they yours? Or your roommate's?"

Santana wished it was earlier, so she could feel free to showcase them, but there were more important matters to attend to. "They're mine…the guitar is my first, and the piano is a hand me down from my abuela. My pride and joy, respectfully." Santana said with a smile at her loves, even if she rarely got to indulge in them. "Hey, I'll be right back, okay?"

With that, Santana swiftly tiptoed to her room, gathering a pair of slipper socks Quinn gave her for Christmas two years ago, before grabbing some blankets and towels from the linen closet. She figured Rachel needed to warm up, and that one of them, likely her, would be sleeping in the living room, and it was best to prepare. She made one final stop in the kitchen for some frozen peas and freezer packs, figuring that they might be able to help with any swelling or bruising that was troubling her guest.

When she returned, Rachel was right where she left her, but the diva's feet were kicking back and forth, the woman's eyes on the clasped hands in her lap.

"I know it's not really easy to talk about, but did he hurt you anywhere I can't see? Like, your stomach, or legs…" Santana asked, allowing her words to trail off in hopes it was enough for Rachel to get the gist of her question.

The diva looked up, those piercing sad eyes practically splitting Santana's heart in two with just a look. "He…it's mostly just my face, but he…he pushed me around, and my back and my left side hurt." Rachel detailed, the sheer sorrow in her voice making Santana want to track that ogre down and flay him alive, but honestly, Berry was more important at the moment. First came comfort. Then came the personalized contract hit on the jackass who hurt her.

"Okay. Can I get you to lean forward a bit?" Santana asked, crossing the room with purpose. When the diva did as requested, wincing at the motion, Santana slipped a towel-covered bag of peas behind her to help with her back. Then, she wrapped the woman's bruised wrist with a hand-towel covered pack, and then gently handed another to Rachel, who gingerly rested it on her face.

"It's February, and I'm going to be colder indoors than outside." Rachel joked, or at least attempted to, but Santana just straight up wasn't in a laughing mood. Maybe another time, because she got why it could, in theory, be funny, but the context ruined it. Which only made her sadder.

"Shit, I know it's cold, but…maybe the fire will help, and if you're up for staying the night still, my bed's super warm, and…" Santana started, only for Berry's feet to lightly stomp the hardwood flooring, breaking her out of her somewhat embarrassing, aimless stream of thought rambling.

"Santana, I refuse to impose on you any more than I already have. I'm not taking your bed." Rachel argued, trying to look all serious and stern, but failing given the super swollen lower lip made her appear as if she were perpetually pouting.

"It's not an imposition, Berry. You need it more than me, and this couch was my bed for years." Santana claimed along with an eyeroll, though the last bit was an exaggeration. Truthfully, she had slept over often enough, maybe even a month or two's nights a year during her childhood, but it hardly could be referred to as years' worth of sleeps.

Thankfully, though, that seemed to soften the diva's features. "You really sleep here that often?" The woman asked quietly, confusion and skepticism colouring her features a bit, but nothing too intense that Santana felt couldn't be moved past.

"Definitely. Like I said, the piano was my abuela's, and I love it. I'd camp out here a lot of nights just so I could wake up and play it before breakfast. And since I got to call this place home, some nights I don't even make it back to my bedroom, and just crash here. So honestly, I'm good to sleep here. Just like you'd do well taking my bed, because it'd be better for you than the couch." Santana explained, hoping her lengthy reasoning would win the diva over, what with her playing Berry's game of being overly wordy.

Thankfully, Rachel nodded and gave as much of a smile as was likely comfortable. "I…I suppose I could take your bed for the night, then."

"Great. I'll just go get everything ready, do my night-time stuff, and when I come back, I'll get you situated. That sound okay?" She asked, drawing another small nod from her guest.

Once more, Santana slipped out of the living room and swiftly crept to the washroom to get ready for bed herself. While waiting for her moisturizer to sink in, she texted Mariela about plans maybe changing the next morning, and that she'd call her. Santana was pretty sure she'd ask her mami to step in for her the coming morning, given Mariela lived next door to her mami, and the elder Lopez lady was usually really good with emergency fill-ins, but she'd figure that out later.

At the moment, she felt fairly positive she wouldn't be able to make it in early to prep the next day's batches, not with Rachel giving her déjà vu over what had happened with her aunt. Thankfully, Olivia had moved on to a better man, fiancée now, but for years she'd endured an abusive husband, and it had killed Santana to see the woman so sad and hurt on the regular.

Sure, this was the first time she'd seen Rachel hurt, but all Santana knew was that Berry would be safe going forward. No customer of hers would have to deal with that shit, especially the diva who generally made her laugh the most, and made her smile the most, and who tipped like a boss. No, Santana knew people, and she'd pull out all the stops if she had to. Ever since Rachel had shown up, the girl had genuinely smiled less and less as months passed, and Santana just wanted the woman to be happy again, and for those smiles to reach the diva's eyes again. Hey, Berry was a good person, she deserved better.

Once finished with her prep, Santana made her way back to the living room and, as gently as she could, lifted the woman from the couch and led her to her bedroom. It didn't take long to settle the diva in under the sheets with the freezer packs nearby, Santana leaving a hot water bottle for the diva in case she needed it for her aching side. Thankfully, Rachel seemed to melt into her mattress and pillow, which settled Santana's mind a little, knowing at least one woman would manage to get some rest that night.

Soon, she was back on her trusty couch, trying to catch some Zs herself, wishing Rachel's bloody face wouldn't haunt her each time she closed her eyes. If it was the price for berry having a safe haven for the night, though, then she'd deal. Maybe a mid-morning nap would see her through the rest of tomorrow, once she knew Rachel was okay.


End file.
